ordinary eternal machinery
by AceralRayneRaith
Summary: She thinks it's so stupid and degrading how people won't actually say it. She's crazy. She knows that, and they know it too. That's why they're all stuck in this room for group therapy day after day.  Acceptance is the first step to solving the problem.
1. Prologue

So… this is my newest story, and I'm actually excited for it. In all of my years of creepily stalking fanfics, I've never come across a storyline where everyone at Ouran is crazy, as in patients in a mental institute, but I feel like all of the characters could definitely do it.

Which is how this beauty was born.

As usual, I'm a hardcore MorixHaruhi-shipper, so, one guess as to what this baby will be in so far as relationships. Go on. You can guess… ; )

This will be my first _ever_ attempt at a multi-chapter MorixHaru. Yeah. Go ahead. You can applaud.

The title, and each little line that precedes each chapter, are quotes taken from my poetry idol: Leonard Cohen.

He has a way with words like Rothko has a way with canvas. And, yes, before you ask: I consider his song lyrics to be poetry.

So, anyway, read and enjoy. I hope to be posting a new chapter of TBMUFSSF soon, so feel free to check in on that as well. See y'all at the bottom.

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><p><em>"I cannot understand why my arm is not a lilac tree."<em>

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><p><em>Prologue<em>

"You're going to be okay."

Her father is reaching out to her, arm latched around her own, acrylic nails digging into her skin.

_He's leaving marks_, she idly notes, watching in fascination as her forearm gives beneath his grip in a most fascinating way, the smooth surface caving into crescent-shaped indents and divots.

"You're going to be just fine," he repeats, and she's sure it's more for his own benefit than it is for hers.

The taxi driver spares a glance at her in the mirror, and she pretends that she doesn't notice the fear washing through his brown eyes as his gaze lands on her.

He's been like this since they first stepped into the cab, her father rattling off their destination while she watched the driver's eyes widen with a sort of grudging worry, waiting for her to explode.

It's the look that she always gets when people find out.

It's the look that her father gave her when she was diagnosed.

She sighs noiselessly.

"This will be good for you," the man, who is dressed in a knee-length skirt and pressed blouse, continues; she doesn't know why he continues to talk since she hasn't responded, but it's annoying her. Like a fly. She wants to swat it. Or is it him maybe?

The annoyance turns into a fever-hot rage that storms around in her chest for no real reason other than the man not shutting up. The anger is so deeply moving and so hot that a sweat breaks across her forehead. Her heartbeat thrums unevenly up in her neck, her chest is tight, and her fingertips start twitching. She wants to hit him. She wants to swat this annoyance from her presence…

Her father's free hand snaps down on the one that she has lifted involuntarily, his other hand constricting until the blood rises up beneath the skin of her forearm between the marks of his nails.

A shuddering gasp leaves her lips; the cabbie looks terrified; she can't meet her father's gaze – she just doesn't care anymore.

"You're going to be just fine, Haruhi."

She can hear the pity in his voice. She'd like to say that it yawns before her like an ocean, swallowing her, making her want to be a better person, but it doesn't. Nothing does.

"Here we are, sir," the cab driver interrupts, his eyes wide and nervous and very brown; Haruhi sighs and directs her gaze out past her father's shoulder.

Ouran Hospital is supposedly the best, and maybe if she was different, she would care about how much this must be costing her father, the man who has only ever tried to give her the best that he possibly could. If there's one place where she could "be fixed" like her father dreams, then it would be Ouran.

_Too grandiose_, she thinks, brow furrowing in distaste. The gates are too wrought-iron-y, and the greenery is too green. Somewhere in the distance, behind shrubs and flowering trees and pretentions pavement, a fountain is splashing, a long, rectangular pool with a cherub and lily pads, and the hospital rises up behind it, very gothic in its flying spires, ogival arches, and rose windows.

If she didn't know better, she'd say that this was a school for rich and self-important people.

Her father slides out of the taxi gracefully, and she looks down at her skin at the marks he's left. No sooner has she left the car, his arm is back on hers, and she glances down at it for what feels like the hundredth time in the space of the thirty-minute cab ride.

His nails resume their clawed position, the angry marks now a torrid red that will be sore in a few hours.

She's never studied arms before. They're rather curious with their knobby elbows and blue veins and fine hairs. And why are they called arms? What makes an arm _an arm_?

The interest is fleeting, and she turns her eyes away and to the hospital, to her new home.

She guesses that she should feel something, but she doesn't care about anything.

Her father used to say that she was just _apathetic_, finding no pleasure and no interest in the outside world. But he allowed it because he could dote on her relentlessly, always trying to coax her to feel something; he wanted to be the one to bring her out from behind her dazed eyes and uncaring expression.

Nothing changed though, and she thinks that it was almost a relief for him to finally hear the diagnosis that week ago.

"You'll be fine," her father says one last time as they move through the gate, over the stone, through the highly-arched doors.

A nurse's station lies immediately to the left, and two women man it. One of them, a chipper-looking brunette with too much mascara, steps from behind it and opens her hands up to Haruhi – this woman doesn't look as nervous as others have in the past, and Haruhi appreciates it.

"Welcome to Ouran Hospital, Fujioka-san. We've been expecting you."

She assumes that she should say something in return to be polite, so she slaps on a smile and bows delicately at the waist.

"Arigato gozaimasu."

The nurse reaches out for her hand, while the other one scurries for the one bag that she was allowed to pack – _it's probably to check it to make sure that there's nothing _too_ too much in there_, she thinks.

Ranka is tough to dissuade and disengage from, but she eventually manages, moving around him to the nurse, placing her hand in the extended palm.

"You're going to be fine," Ranka pitters in the background, before he's ushered out of the door.

"I'm to take you to your room, Fujioka-san. And then, you are to attend your morning session…"

A part of her listens, taking note of the regimented schedule, but another part just wanders aimlessly about in her brain, staring past everything with impassive eyes.

She thinks that a part of her should feel _something_ as her father is led away and she is taken to a new life, but, as it's been for a while now, she's just in her regular state of indifference, watching the world pass with neither purpose nor meaning.

She just _doesn't _care; in fact, the only thing that she can feel at any time is _rage_. She thinks that she should worry that she feels nothing, but then the anger can rise fast in her belly, and then her throat, and then her brain, and the world can fade into this hazy red place where all she can feel is this undiluted fury and rage.

Perhaps that's how she ended up here. In a psychiatric hospital. A place for crazies. Perhaps that's why she had to see a new doctor. Why her father can only say that '[she] will get better'.

In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have gotten that mad at that man when he offered her that free sample… or those people that tried to stop as the floor around her and him turned this strange, deeply red color. It might have been a bit too much to slam his head into the mall's tiled floor so many times, and it might have been a bit too much taking down that pregnant woman when she got in the way.

She thinks that it's nice that a part of her hopes he wakes from his coma soon.

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><p>So, yeah. Haruhi's a little crazy. We'll meet the boys in the next chapter, as well as Haruhi's roommate. I'm, probably, most proud of Kyoya's… problems, just because they're the funniest, but that's just saying.<p>

Your favorite Cyber Host to each individual who offers their opinion on what they think each Host has that makes 'em crazy.

Reviews are my medicine. Won't you please give me my dosages?


	2. Chapter 1

So, I'm totally thrilled by the response that this story got. It made my day every time I got a new review, and I'm so thrilled that you all are excited by this story. Please keep making my day with your reviews. I love and am grateful for all of the favorites and alerts that I get, but I always have a huge smile on my face when I see a review. (I usually respond to them, but life has been hectic over here, and I haven't had the time nor the opportunity – I'll try to be better for this chapter.)

Thank you to those who offered your thoughts on what made our favorite Hosts crazy. Your favorite cyber Host to everyone because I'm feeling generous.

What I forgot to mention in the prologue: This will have references to medical treatments and psychological conditions. I am no doctor. _Please read this with a grain of salt._ It is a work of fiction after all.

Anyway, read on and review. Kisses to you all.

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><p><em>"Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows."<em>

_"Reality is one of the possibilities I cannot afford to ignore."_

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><p><em>Chapter One<em>

The nurse did not divulge that her first session was actually preceded by a visit to the doctor. In fact, her roommate was the one who gave that up when they first entered her chamber.

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><p>Her room is very sparse and bare, white walls and dark floors and lancet windows on one wall. It's decently-sized though and fitted with two twin beds and dressers. Underneath the dappled light of the stained glass window, a desk has been pushed and is littered with crudely rough depictions of a dark-haired man with glasses.<p>

Her roommate is sitting on the bed when she comes in.

Haruhi guesses that, in most societies and cultures, the girl would be considered pretty with her very large eyes and even larger bows, but Haruhi's never swung _that_ way and she's utterly incapable of feeling _moved_ by anything, so the girl's pretty face and lithely skinny body is wasted on her.

"Fujioka-san, this is your roommate. Houshakuji Renge, this is Fujioka Haruhi," the nurse titters, still very eager and very chipper and very annoying.

"Yoroshiku, Haruhi-chan," Houshakuji Renge murmurs at the exact moment when Haruhi mumbles, "Hajimemashite."

There's an awkward pause for a second, the nurse backing herself to the door to give the two space. There's something even more awkward following the action as the two girls just sit there and stare at one another.

Haruhi's gaze flickers towards the desk, towards the truly monumental leaning tower of pictures, and the other girl lets out a bright chirp.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?"

Beautiful is not the first word that comes to mind when she looks at the obviously-amateur designs, but she's still not sure what exactly is wrong with her roommate, so she decides to play it safe.

"Yes," she agrees readily, looking about the room once more. The room is well-maintained, her luggage sits on one of the beds, and a door is tucked into the corner – _a bathroom, maybe_?

"Well, you can't have him," Renge snaps abruptly, arm and hand flickering out to snatch Haruhi's chin up and turn it back towards her. "He's _mine_."

She doesn't appreciate being touched like this, and she feels the sweat break across her skin as her pulse thumps uneasily and loudly throughout her body.

_Anger. Fury. Rage_…

She clamps down on the rising heat in her body, like her doctor told her to, and tries to breathe, to not snatch her chin back, to not growl and slap and hit…

It works for the most part: Renge lets her face go, settling back with two fingers outstretched in the direction of the images, and Haruhi can feel that level-headed apathy steal back into her eyes and brain.

Her message delivered, Haruhi's roommate beams, face breaking into a wide smile, and it's such a complete turn-around from how she was originally acting that Haruhi thinks this girl could really make someone's head whirl.

"He's the love of my life," Renge chirrups brightly. She rises and wanders over to the desk, sinking to the floor gracefully, reaching fingers outstretched. A picture connects with the tips, and she latches on, crushing it to her chest. "My love. My prince. My fiancé."

The nurse steps forward and places her hand on the brunette's shoulder.

"Houshakuji-san, you aren't supposed to use your free time in the art studio," the woman hedges warily, directing her gaze towards the veritable mountain of etchings, and the other girl shudders minutely before lifting her hand in farewell, slinking away to a corner with a notebook hidden to her chest.

It's almost a relief to leave the room and her crazy roomie… until Renge gives a short cry as they step out to leave.

"Have fun at the physical exam," her roommate hums at her retreating back, slamming the door after them.

The nurse's grip is tight on her upper arm, and she immediately starts chattering to fill the space. Going on about the overall layout of the building, Haruhi catches murmurings of private rooms and private bathrooms for each occupant.

The only mention that the nurse makes of what happened in her room begins with a _totally_ reassuring, "I will speak to Kurakano-sensei about Houshakuji-san's treatments. She really is not supposed to have those pictures, and I'm sure it goes against her routine. She really is quite harmless."

Haruhi pauses, interrupting the discourse on building layout and specific rooms, because she just couldn't care less about all of this.

"Why do I need a physical exam?" Haruhi finally queries, and the nurse's rehearsed speech quells in her throat with a dying cough. "I can assure you that I am perfectly healthy."

Her smile seems paper-thin now, stretched and ragged, edged in cracking corners of lipstick. Haruhi doesn't think that anybody's ever questioned it, but she wants an answer.

"Protocol, Fujioka-san," the woman says, voice still as chipper as when this all began, though her eyes belie a sudden weariness.

Haruhi nods, acquiescing, and the nurse, whose name she has still yet to get, renews her speaking.

Haruhi listens fully for perhaps the first time, funneling her lack of caring into paying attention to someone who obviously cares too much. Meal times are gone over, rules are laid out – unless given specific permission, she is not to leave her room after the ten-thirty bedtime; patients are only to eat at the assigned hours from their assigned diets; food is not allowed in the bedrooms; etc. – and it all seems very contrite and very expected of a mental hospital.

She wishes there was something _more _about this entire experience… maybe, just maybe, that would make her feel something.

Haruhi is beginning to hate mediocrity and apathy.

It really makes her blood boil.

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><p>So, here she is. In another room. Stark. Tiled. Without life and without color and without anything that could set anybody off.<p>

She figures that that must be the goal of this entire place. If the doctors can't fix someone, then the least they can do is avoid everything that could make the patients go, well, _crazy_.

In fact, the only people who would probably have an issue with this space and this place are those with leukophobia, and she's never met anybody like that. Not that she's met all that many crazy people.

It's not a psychological evaluation – that's, _supposedly_, what her group session is for – and is purely physical. That's what the doctor (who is sitting in front of her in a _white_ lab coat and frameless glasses) assured her when she first walked in with arms extended and open in a gesture she recognizes as trying to appear non-threatening.

She reaches up and touches the cropped edges of her hair. The doctor makes a note of it and looks up with quizzical eyes.

"Your hair is quite short, Fujioka-san," the doctor says to her, a low note running through his tone that she assumes most people find placating.

_Cut it_, she thinks wordlessly. _Left it on the bathroom floor because it was too much like _hers.

"Indeed. Very astute of you," she replies easily. If she used any inflection, then it would probably come off as mocking, but she doesn't feel like poking fun at anyone.

The doctor nods and has the decency to look ashamed.

It's another ten minutes before her doctor lets Haruhi don the paper-thin hospital gown they provided her with. She figures that he's making note of all of the inconsequential minutiae on the outside – androgynous figure, short hair, small frame, large eyes – just because it shows a completely rounded evaluation. They only _really_ care about what's inside, what makes each individual tick and twitch and go crazy.

"Arigato, Fujioka-san. Genki de itekudasai," her doctor murmurs; her same nurse from earlier enters, her smile even wider and more brilliant. She's holding a bundle in her arms, clutching at it fiercely before extending it towards the girl.

_Too toothy… too wide_, Haruhi notes of the grin, automatically moving to her side. _Nervous_.

"Here's your uniform. It's time for your group session, Fujioka-san," she says, drawing a segment of dark hair behind her ear to expose the line of her neck disappearing into the blue of her scrubs. "The others are waiting."

She shrugs into the yellow gown – _come to think of it, Renge was wearing one too_ – and tries not to fidget with its tapered waistline and skirt. The collar and cuffs contrast against the bright color of the actual dress in a stark white, and the skirt of the dress is frilled with crinoline to a hooped approximation.

"Well," the nurse comments with a beam that Haruhi is beginning to find off-putting, "you don't look nearly so boyish now!"

_Supposed to be like a compliment_, her brain offers, and she mentally rolls her eyes.

"Ma'am, we were told that a doctor would be provided for me here, so I was just wondering: who is my doctor?" Haruhi asks quietly as the nurse takes her place by her side and leads her back out into the hallways.

(It's almost a relief to step out into the corridor; there is actual color here, from the dewy paint on the soaring walls to the pink-veined marble floors… it's almost like being in a cake. Haruhi has never really fancied sweets, aside from periodically indulging herself in the strawberries that _she_ used to serve her, but being in a cake is better than being in a place that single-handedly keeps the Liberty Paints plant in business.)

The nurse makes a surprised sound next to her, at this first sign of life that the girl has given her, and launches into another long-winded dialogue.

"It's hospital protocol to assign one of our three doctors to incoming patients. It's not that we believe previous doctors and their prescribed treatments are inferior," she hastens to add, as if Haruhi will take offense to her statement. "We merely feel that a fresh slate is best for our patients, a new person who will not judge them or report to their parents. Ouran is purely a juvenile facility, but our expertise is vast and wide-stretching so that we may treat all who wish to come here.

"Sonoda-sensei, Soga-sensei, and Kurakano-sensei are said to be three of the finest juvenile doctors in the whole of the country," the woman continues, a bright look stealing into her gaze. "Patients, upon their admittance to our facilities, are assigned to the doctor who feels they may best meet the needs of the patient due to their qualifications. Your doctor, Sonoda-sensei, specializes in conditions that are more internal – however, each doctor makes sure to take the time and acquaint themselves with each individual case.

"We like to put our patients in groups so that they may work out their issues in a larger setting with more support from their peers, and we take care to select the groups based on who we feel will mesh in the most conducive fashion. The other boys in your group are all roughly around your age as well. As with the majority of our patients, they all come from fairly influential, wealthy families. I must ask you to be patient with them, Fujioka-san."

Haruhi can feel her head nodding in time with their steps, and the nurse falls silent as the end of this hallway looms before them. A set of doors rises above them at the end, high and detailed, and Haruhi stares at them harder, trying to prompt herself to feel some sense of trepidation.

The nurse stills her lips as they near and brings them to a stop right outside of the door.

"Please wait here, Fujioka-san. Just a moment so that I can announce your arrival."

The nurse reaches out for the girl's hand and places it on the wall in a silent command to stay exactly in her spot before she disappears through the tall, ornate double doors.

The woman isn't gone thirty seconds before she returns, pushes Haruhi ahead with a quiet goodbye, and begins her trek back in the general direction of the nurse's station.

She steps into the room (and she believes that she hears a faint, ringing 'Welcome'), and a pair of small arms snaps around her waist into a vice-tight grip.

"I'm Haninozuka Mitsukuni, and I'm very glad that you're in our group. You're very pretty," the small boy states dramatically; his eyes are very largely and, frankly, disconcerting, and she wishes that he was looking anywhere but at her at this very moment. "We've only had boys in our group, but Misuzu-chi told us that we were going to get a girl a few days ago. The others were nervous, but I was very happy!"

It's a relief when his head whips back to the group seated on several plush couches and away from her.

"Takashi is my very best friend and he's got this really weird form of autism, or something, but he doesn't really like new people, so that explains why he was nervous," the small boy remarks, freeing one of his arms to gesture towards a slumped man with dark, spiky hair. "And the twins, Hikaru and Kaoru, only really like each other, so…" he trails off, finger jumping towards two individuals who are twined around each other and pointing out each respectively.

"Suoh Tamaki hid in the corner when the nurse came in because she wouldn't answer when he asked her if she thought he was attractive, but he should be out soon enough. He likes girls, so the novelty of you will draw him out eventually. Ootori Kyoya is over there, though," the small boy chirps, pointing towards a dark-haired individual holding a notebook.

_He bears a striking resemblance to that boy in those drawings Renge did_, Haruhi thinks, but she quickly kills that thought.

"How old are you?" she wonders aloud, looking down at his sweet, youthful features and the cloud of blond hair on his head.

"Oh, I'm eighteen! But I have Circadian rhythm sleep disorder," he beams, saying the condition as if it's an honor that he's been given. "My biological clock is messed up, so I sleep at strange times. Sometimes I can go for long periods without it too! A lot of nights, I just walk around, even though it's past curfew, but I'm one of the few exceptions. Takashi, when he's sleepwalking, joins me, but only because he doesn't like other people. I can't really function in the real world because it messes with everything, and the fact that I have such weird sleep habits has messed with my hormones, which is why I'm so small."

She nods, staring down at him for a moment before she looks at everyone else.

"So, what's wrong with the rest of you?"

"Oh, she's blunt," one of the twins (_Hikaru_, she believes) deadpans, a small tic forming along his brow.

Haruhi, who has never been very good in social situations because she just _can't_ bring herself to care about another person in the same way as she used to, ignores the muscle spasm and barb and sinks into one of the couches. It's the place that is next to the tall man with the spiky hair, but he hardly looks up as she seats herself to his left.

He's staring hard at the vase on the chintzy coffee table, and she's fine with that.

"Haruhi-chan, many patients would take offense to the question of 'what is wrong with [them]'; subsequently, I should encourage you to not ask that of others. However, in this room, we believe in having an open floor, and, since you are at such a disadvantage of being a new member here, that shall be discussed," Sonoda-sensei says, a gentle reprimand running through his voice.

He's a nice-looking man, and the only one who has lines on his face, so it's easy to pick him out, but there's something feminine about his round eyes and long hair.

The man with the glasses looks up then and begins speaking without a prompt from their doctor.

"Many people have said that I am a megalomaniac; they have all disappeared. At the same time, one of my early doctors said that I also possessed 'Schizoid Personality Disorder'… it really is a shame that he has been banned from Japan," Kyoya purrs, a flash stealing across his glasses in perfect timing with his words as his lips lift into a cold grimace.

Tamaki – _an attractive blond_, she notes, _with very pretty eyes_ – has made his reappearance during the speech of the Ootori, inching his way closer from behind the twins on their seat, but the very second that his hand lands on the shoulder of one of the twins (she's still sure that his name is Hikaru), the red-headed doppelganger rounds with fury blazing in his golden irises.

"Ne, tono, what have I said about touching me? Do it again, and I will have to smash all of the mirrors I know you've hidden under your mattress…"

"Indeed, tono," the other one intones solemnly, linking his arm around his brother's elbow. "That is… before I rip the petals from the roses you give yourself."

A shriek of abject terror whimpers from the throat of the blond, arms shaking as they flail above his head, before he takes off to a corner of the room.

"You will have to excuse them, Haruhi," Kyoya amends, moving to stand behind the sofa she's seated upon, glasses gleaming above a cruel, thin smirk. "Tamaki has a mean case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and the twins rarely do anything without the other. They truly are one person in two bodies, so the doctors really have no idea how to classify their case. I believe that this week, Sonoda-sensei has put on their case file that it is Multiple Personality Disorder that causes all of their issues, but, alas… we merely aren't sure."

She isn't quite sure why, but Haruhi feels very uncomfortable in this man's presence. He makes her want to curl up in a hole somewhere in a very basic way that has nothing to do with how she is and everything to do with human instinct. She also doesn't want to tell him that she really doesn't understand what any of these disorders are.

She shifts closer to the silent man sitting by her, and, for the first time since she's entered the room, he shifts her way as well.

"So, what's wrong with you?" Hikaru asks, parroting her earlier question back at her.

_He looks a lot like his brother_, she muses, watching as the two untangle on their own couch and lean towards her. _It would be difficult to tell them who is whom_.

She can feel the others' eyes land on her, and Haruhi jumps when it sinks in that she's been asked a question.

She feels very disjointed around all of them, and she's afraid that they could make her feel too much.

She makes a low sound of acknowledgement in her throat before she dares open her mouth; it's been a while since she's had to speak about any of this because both she and her father avoided this conversation as often as possible, and she really isn't sure how to go about the whole process, so she just decides to toss it out there and see how it goes.

"My doctor says that I have a chemical imbalance that causes me to be apathetic. But the real reason that I am here is because of a condition that my doctor called 'Intermittent Explosive Disorder'."

She considers telling them more – like, what happened, how she was diagnosed, what it makes her want to do – but figures that, if they're just going to throw around names and disorders and condition, then she can do the same.

Her doctor is the first one who doesn't look afraid by what she could do, but she does notice his cheeks look a bit paler.

The man sitting by her side shifts slightly, and, almost unconsciously, she can feel his gaze on her.

He reaches out suddenly, and the room falls silent, watching the long, pale digits surround her wrist and tug her closer to him.

She still doesn't understand why it's such a big deal, but she's oddly okay with him touching her.

"Takashi's never done that before!" she hears ring out across the room, but she's too busy watching the tall boy lean his head down to her chest as his fingers pull hers down to her lap. He settles his head over her heartbeat, turning her body with his free hand to fit against his in a way that's rather uncomfortable for her – then again, she's pretty sure that she knew someone when she was younger who had autism, and she learned that it's just better to do things their way then to try and fix something.

Plus, it really doesn't bother her all that much. It's just what happens when one doesn't care.

She looks past his head to the others, and she sees them staring at her as if she's some sort of goddess descended from the heavens.

She's pretty sure that they don't understand that this is just typical for crazy people.

It's not like she came here asking questions about etiquette and protocol for the insane; they work on a different level than other people, and she's just going to let it go down.

The giant who has his head on her chest turns his nose in towards her breast bone, but she continues to stare at the others.

"Well, is it time to get the group session started?"

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><p>Now that you've read it please review it, loves.<p>

In regards to my posting schedule, I laid all of that out in my profile. If you don't like how long I take updating, then I'm not the author that you should check out (as sad as that makes me). I'm very sorry, but my life is very, _very_ busy. Time that is not spent doing other stuff is spent working on my original stories.

That's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Anyway, sorry to get all angsty on y'all.

Reviews would make my life, and I will kindly love you all for them.

Kisses and hugs.

Ace


	3. Chapter 2

First Order of Business: I feel like I owe y'all an apology. In my last chapter, you may have noticed my use of Japanese phrases. You may also have noticed my lack of translations. Now, normally, I'm _paranoid_ about using phrases in another language that people don't know [see: Of Whispers and Smirks] – knowing two languages (three if you want to count Drunken English lolz, and four if you want to count being proficient in another), I am usually hyperaware of putting foreign languages into a fic. I totally blanked in this past chapter, and I didn't even realize it until a reviewer pointed it out. So, I'm very, _very_ sorry. Here are the translations for the last chapter, and I'm sorry I spazzed – we all have off days, yeah?

Yoroshiku: _It is a pleasure to meet you, _essentially.

Hajimemashite: _Nice to meet you_.

Arigato: _Thank you_.

Genki de itekudasai: _Stay well _or _take care_, again, essentially.

Tono: Literally, _lord_. It's also what the twins call Tamaki in the anime (and the manga I believe…)

And the suffixes: -San is the most general. –Chan is used by small children or in reference to girls. –Sensei, while actually most commonly used for teachers, is what you tack on to your doctor's name. And, on Misuzu-chi: The –chi is like –chan, but if you watch the anime, then you will notice that Tamaki calls Misuzu Sonoda, Ranka's friend who runs the pension, the name I used.

Anyway, as always, loving the reviews. I've tried to respond to every one that I've gotten that I could've. Please keep them coming.

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><p><em>"There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."<em>

_"Here's to the few who forgive what you do, and the fewer who don't even care."_

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><p><em>Chapter Two<em>

The first time that she ever talked to anyone about her… _problem_ was the same day that she was diagnosed.

_It had been building_, she supposes, _for years. Sitting there. Growing larger and larger like a tumor or something until it burst._

She remembers the day when it exploded, pounding from within her heart, radiating out as she was controlled by the urge to _pulverize_ this man, make him see the error of his ways, cause him to hurt like she was hurting.

And, Haruhi knows that she had been hurting for a very, _very_ long time.

In all reality and looking back, the man really hadn't done anything to warrant her response; he was just the unfortunate victim of her anger tumor/aneurysm, and when it ruptured, he was the one who was swept up into it.

She thinks that, if she took the time and blocked it out, it would look a little bit like this from an outside point of view:

He proffers a tray. It's the food court, and it's been a long day. He's almost as sick of shoving this food in peoples' faces as they are of letting him – people can tell from his eyes. His voice is ragged with the words 'Free sample!', and he hates how all of his hopes and dreams are now a mess that will never take shape – again, it's in his eyes.

A small girl walks by. She's very thin, sweetly curved like all young youths are, with large eyes, short hair, and small hands.

It's his job.

The words rise up.

He offers the tray.

She turns her head. Takes him in. Her eyes are look like cinnamon. They're glossy and unfocused.

Her fists clench. Mouth opens silently. Lips curl back from teeth in a snarl.

She's feral and angry.

His eyes widen, and he retracts the tray, but her legs, which stilled with his offer, extend in a small leap.

Muscles bunch in her back as her hands find his shoulders.

Physics takes over, and, though his mass is far superior to her own, the force and acceleration propel him to the ground. His head hits the tile, and he goes still beneath her.

But she isn't satisfied. She pulls him by his uniform shirt up towards her as her knees dig into his hips before she slams him back to the ground.

People stare. Someone screams.

A woman, belly rounded slightly, is the first to move into action, but the small girl turns at the last second as the woman's hand rests on her shoulder and shoots past the woman towards her belly.

The woman screams, intent on saving her child from such a rudely rough blow, and careens back.

The man doesn't move. Someone has called security.

By the time the mall police have arrived, the girl is still. She sits by the man's side. Her eyes are uncaring, watching the ground as they haul her away. Someone weeps, rushing to the man's side before the EMTs arrive and sweep them aside.

Yes, she's had a lot of time to think about it. To visualize. She told her doctor, when she'd come in, about how her heart palpitated, and everything went curiously white, and then she "woke up" next to an unconscious man and police.

He told her, _very seriously_, that people could press charges, and she could be put away before he said three small words.

Intermittent. Explosive. Disorder.

The families didn't press charges – only after they'd found out about her… _condition_ – but they demanded she go somewhere.

Ranka didn't want to talk about her issue, and so she's never really _talked_ about this, and she isn't sure how this '_session_' is supposed to go, especially in a group setting.

This Takashi boy still has his nose buried in her chest, breathing, and the others are still staring.

Her new doctor seems to understand that she wants to get on with this and clears his throat, humming lightly.

"So, Haruhi, what would you like to talk about?" he chirrups brightly, and, if she cared, she would probably be shocked that he's asking her this.

"Don't we just tell you our problems and you give us medicine?"

She turns her gaze to him, and the man makes a disapproving humming sound from deep within his chest. He opens his mouth to answer, but the small, blond child from earlier, who has seated himself before Haruhi on the floor, scurries to a kneeling position and places his chin on her knees.

_Mitsukuni_, she reminds herself, watching his brown eyes as they gaze up at her.

"Oh no, Haru-chan! Misuzu-chi is one of those New Age doctors! He thinks that it's far better for the patient to dictate the agenda as compared to just following whatever the doctor wants," Mitsukuni chimes.

"Indeed," Kyoya states from behind her. "Sonoda-sensei believes that a patient will react in a far more positive light if they perceive that they are the ones controlling the session. If a patient thinks they are in control, then they are far more likely to take counsel into consideration. There are others who do not believe as such, but they do not work here," he trails off, and the entire room seems to chill with his words.

Haruhi thinks that they are leaving something out, _something vital_, but she's okay with letting people have their secrets.

"An excellent job as always, boys," Sonoda-sensei chimes, excitement lighting up his brown eyes and warming the room. "Two refreshing points for each of you!"

She must look like she questions what that is because, suddenly, two pairs of golden eyes are bobbing before her.

"It's a system the good doc's come up with to keep us on our toes. We get points for being helpful, or as he's dubbed '_refreshing_'," the doppelgangers chime together in syncopated beats and identical tones.

"So, I just… talk? About my past?" she clarifies, mind unable to grasp this idea because it isn't logical, fueled as it is purely by emotions.

She _vaguely_ wants to feel something, but she doesn't want to feel that _now_. _It's very sudden_, she thinks, and she urges her belly to churn like it's supposed to.

"Or I can talk about mine. We just want to establish a basis of faith between us all so that, later on, we can really help one another overcome our individual problems," her doctor chimes, and she shrugs, head bowing in acquiescence. Takashi's nose presses harder against her rib cage, and she isn't sure what to do with her hands as his arm clutches (almost desperately) at her thin waist.

"But first…" Kaoru (she still isn't sure _how_ she knows, but she does and is okay with that) lights up, raising his hand into the air between his body and his brother's. Without missing a beat, his clone smacks their palms together and finishes with a heavily dramaticized, "Doctor, doctor I think I'm a bell!"

Their eyes are wicked and glinting as they look at Sonoda-sensei, and he sighs from deep within his chest and responds, "Take these and, if it doesn't help, give me a ring."

"Don't mind them. This seems to provide Hikaru and Kaoru with endless entertainment," Kyoya supplies, finally moving from behind her to sit across the table on a plush seat. "They have a new one every day, and Sonoda-sensei just puts up with it. It really is astounding how he knows the response to every single one."

He smiles across from her, a dark look to his eyes, and she shivers, shuddering in towards Takashi and his warmth more.

"If I may, boys," Sonoda-sensei finally says, and the twins both snicker at him and flick contemptuous gazes at his frame. "Unless, of course, you would like to share today."

They both sneer, opposite sides of their mouths rising fluidly, and, like mirror reflections, raise a hand and swat it in front of them in a classic gesture of passing the task.

"Thank you! Well, let's see… where to start? Hmm… well, I didn't always want to be a doctor, you know," Sonoda-sensei confides, lowering his voice dramatically, face grave, eyes wide. "I wanted to run a pension in Karuizawa, but then my daughter Mei was born and money had to be made. So, I became a banker, but I always harbored a secret love for helping others."

The others are quiet around them, gathered and grouped and clustered on their little couches. She's very aware of the sharp point of Mitsukuni's chin on her knee and Takashi's arm around her waist, and she watches as Kyoya draws forth a notebook and begins to scribble in it. The twins, bored after their joke routine, subside, tracing each other's knees and the black pants that cover them.

She, kind of, wants to really meet this Tamaki character, but she's not sure where he is in the room. It seems a shame for him to miss out on Story Time.

"My ex-wife and I were never happy during our marriage," Sonoda-sensei continues; Haruhi isn't sure what the protocol is here – _should he tell everything?_ – so she keeps her mouth quiet and listens. "We weren't good as anything more than friends, but we tried to stay together for Mei. Eventually, the strain we were putting on our relationship resulted in divorce, and Mei chose to live with her mother.

"So, I had my nights free. I could finally help others. I went back to school, and I became a doctor of psychiatry and, after deciding that I wanted to help children and adolescents especially, found my way here."

_Sad, really_, she believes. _His story_…

After all, she's an expert in losing someone. And, maybe, just maybe, she feels a bit… gypped that, while one person lost someone significant in his life, Sonoda-sensei made something of himself. And all she did was go crazy.

She figures that that's supposed to make her bitter.

She's so absolutely absorbed in this story (or is it her own mind?) that it doesn't even register that all action has stilled around her. It's only when she is directly addressed that she manages to gain some control over herself once more.

"Uh… Haruhi…"

Her head turns towards the twins and their golden eyes slowly, only to redirect when she sees two index fingers gesticulating and jabbing over her shoulder.

Tamaki is literally _right there_. Hovering. Lavender eyes wide and lovely and staring into her own.

His pink lips part. His eyes grow larger. A sparkle of light glints from his golden hair. His scent washes over her – red roses, superficially, and _boy_, behind the scent of flowers. His eyelashes flutter like thick, dark feathers.

(She's a bit disturbed honestly; he looks far too enthralled with her, and she isn't interested in him _like that_. She has the feeling that, given the chance and opportunity, he would take a relationship with himself over another person (given what she knows about narcissism).)

"Maiden, your eyes are a most lovely shade. Perhaps you would like to venture away from your… _friend_ and join me for a bit."

She's aware of two things in one instant. One, Takashi's grip on her waist has just knotted to a new level of discomfort, head turned on her chest to look at the blond before the pair. And two, Tamaki has gone deathly, disturbingly _pale_.

He scurries away just as Mitsukuni jumps into Takashi's lap, leg striking out at Haruhi's knee on accident. The joint burns slightly, and she silently relishes that her body can register pain because it's more than it is used to feeling.

(She never was one of those people who jumped into the self-harm craze; it lacked sense. Just because life was rough, why would one harm oneself? Those are just her thoughts on it though… but now she can see the appeal. It means that she'll feel _something_, so…

She laughs to herself – Haruhi's very sure that her doctors would never let something like that happen.)

"Tama-chan didn't mean it, Takashi. He knows that Haru-chan's your new friend," the small boy babbles, burrowing his face between the two, up and under the chin of the giant.

"Of course, Mori-kun," Sonoda-sensei reassures, his tone low and soothing, speaking as if to a wild and skittish animal.

_Which is true enough_, Haruhi muses, trying to ignore the slight twinge in her knee and the knotting in her back. In a way, behind such flowery names and ornate institutes, they are just wild animals, crazy and uncontrollable when not drugged down and into submission with their medicines.

Haruhi is pretty sure that the only reason she is so able to see through everything is because she's so disaffected by the world. The logical place of apathy, while annoying, is very good for picking up on things.

"He didn't mean it," Mitsukuni keeps prattling, over and over.

The urge to hit him rises up, and she has to breathe it down.

"Mori-kun, let's just take some slow breaths, okay? Just in and out. You're safe, and Haruhi-chan is safe, and Mitsukuni is safe, and you are all together. Tamaki just wanted to try and make new friends too. Please breathe. Nobody is trying to take Haruhi or Mitsukuni from you."

It doesn't work, and suddenly, she can't feel the couch beneath her anymore. Her legs are dangling, and her face is staring at a lean lower back covered in a blue blazer. Motion rocks through her abdomen in a strange way, radiating out to her limbs in a delayed fashion, centered around her stomach.

_Tossed over Takashi's shoulder_. _He's moving. Walking away from the group_.

She'd struggle, but she doesn't see a point.

Her heels click against a wall, and suddenly she is whirling, and her stomach dives straight to her nose, and then she is down and pulled against a chest.

It is warm and male. Broad. Pressing into her. A low growl of 'Mine' rolls from it straight into her ear. She can hear the others behind her, the twins laughing hysterically at this turn of event, Tamaki wailing in the corner, Kyoya scribbling away in that notebook he has, and Sonoda-sensei trying to soothe everyone and sounding very frazzled.

She's very disconcerted and confused until Mitsukuni's voice burbles from next to her.

"Don't worry, Haru-chan. Takashi's just taken us to a corner, but he'll calm down soon enough. Promise this doesn't happen every day. He's just feeling a little threatened."

As if to second the boy's word, the arms around the two of them constrict and seize in time with his breathing.

Haruhi is pretty sure that only she could go to a mental institute and find even more craziness within it.

She vaguely wishes she was back at the mall so she could apologize to that man.

It seems like the right thing to do in this kind of situation.

* * *

><p>So, let me just say that I did not expect to get another chapter of this out so soon, but, you lucky dogs, I had minor oral surgery on Tuesday and have (pretty much) been bed-ridden since that day. Not that I've needed to be bed-ridden… I've just had far too many paranoid nurses hovering and shadowing my every move. I grew tired of hearing them gasp every time I tried to leave the bed, so I just decided to stay put.<p>

That being said, this will probably be the last you hear from me for a few weeks/maybe a month (or two). My best friend and I are going on vacation this week, and the week after my life recommences its hectic pace.

I hope that you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

For those who don't know: Autism is a very difficult thing to understand and explain, at least in my eyes. It's a disorder where social interaction and communication are often impaired, but that's about all I understand of it truly. The younger brother of my brother's girlfriend actually has autism, and he's been known to act in much the same way as Takashi in this. He's very protective of certain individuals and will get bent out of shape if he feels threatened in any way, shape, or form. He also doesn't take well to everyone and is particular of those he lets close to him. I know that when my brother tried to meet him, he was closed off and distant, but when I did, he threw himself at me and stayed close. So, I really don't know how to explain Takashi's behavior in a way that makes sense to readers; it's kind of just one of those things that you have to experience. Sorry I can't be more specific…

Anyway, review please. You're all lovely, and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter.

À la prochaine!


	4. Chapter 3

So, here's the third chapter. This is what we like to call: _a filler_.

I have excuses, so check the bottom for them if you're interested. This is very short. Expect a longer one next time.

Again: _filler_.

I wrote it in about an hour and posted it immediately. Please excuse any egregious grammar errors.

Also, as I've stated before: _This is a work of fiction with science-y medical references. Please read this with a grain of salt._

Leave me reviews, and I'll love you forever.

* * *

><p><em>"Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh."<em>

_"Avoid the flourish. Do not be afraid to be weak. Do not be ashamed to be tired. You look good when you're tired. You look like you could go on forever. Now come into my arms. You are the image of my beauty ."_

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Three<em>

Takashi is going to get the nurses called on them.

The room is a hive of activity around them as Tamaki wails and Kyoya writes and the twins crack out jokes in loud, callous tones to a frazzled-looking Sonoda-sensei, who can't even respond to their energetic clawing at his legs. Mitsukuni keeps staring at her and whispering about Takashi being nervous, and the giant in question has crushed them in to himself so tightly that his arms seem to reach around them both twice and still cover his ears.

A vase hits the ground. Sonoda-sensei roars. Tamaki wails. Kyoya writes. Kaoru prattles. Hikaru tattles. Mitsukuni mumbles.

Legitimately, she's quite sure that her brain is about to explode.

_It's too much_, she thinks, as the world fades into a blur of white around her and her fingers curl into frightened, dull little claws, _too much to be asked to sit through. Anybody would react._

Sweat beads on the bridge of her elvin nose, and her pulse thunders throughout her body. She can't breathe with how tight her chest feels, and she's staring at Mitsukuni's brown eyes as she goes under.

She has never _felt_ so much in such a small amount of time, and her body is wracked with the feeling.

_This is so beautiful_, a part of her muses, as she quakes beneath the surge of sensation. _All of _this_… how can someone handle all of _this_?_

She's only partially aware of a screech tearing through the now-silent room, the sound jarring in the stillness, and even less aware of the fact that it's coming from her mouth.

She hears a squeal. She is pushed free.

The dress and its many crinoline layers break the majority of the fall, and she rebounds up off of it, hands out and searching.

Something pliable, and warmly so, finds its way into her hands, and she brings her palm back, fists it, drives forward. Warmth blooms between her fingers, on whatever is beneath her kinesthetic senses. And her fingers slip in their task, but she is staring, blindly, and fighting because there is something that is fighting back and she cannot comprehend what her world has become.

Something attaches to her back, an alien scream joining the confusion, and she bucks hard, all of the power in her small body focused on ridding herself of extra weight.

And it's gone.

She returns to her task.

Again and again.

Still.

And then, a cacophony of sound erupts into her ears, and her eyes fly open, staring up at the tiled ceiling, and she is aware that her body aches, her lungs feeling stretched and dry as words pour from between her teeth and off of her tongue. Another minute goes by before her world centers enough for her to realize that she sounds like a broken record of hatred, spitting out vitriol and venom and spittle as she writhes with the _feeling_ that has consumed her.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'll kill you…"

Her limbs are heavy with something, and her back pushes from the ground into an almost perfect arch, screams rushing in as punctuation marks, high and strained and tainted with an animalistic fear of capture and over-stimulation.

"What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?..."

Suddenly, someone – a man with round eyes and long hair – appears before her, over her, and somehow she manages to think: _Sonoda-sensei_.

His eyes are calm, subdued, and he speaks rapidly into a small device as his fingers move to her throat, pressing into the side of her neck under her jawline. She tries to angle her head down, snarling and gnashing her teeth at his fingers, but he deftly moves his hand away from her mouth every time she twitches her head too close.

Someone sobs, large, child-like sobs, and heaves, painting the air into a picture of pain and suffering. Her cheeks feel warm. Her nose runs. Salt peppers her taste buds, and she keens out her desire to do someone harm.

Something bright flickers into her eyes, and she tries to twitch her head away quickly. Her retinas burn, and a blue dot fills the middle of her vision.

Something heavy falls upon more of her limbs, and she wants to cry with how useless this makes her body feel.

She's so small. And whatever it is, it's so heavy.

A voice calls out, chanting a mantra, that sounds especially like what could be her name.

And, just like that, her world comes back to her, a wash of relief streaking through her mind like a comet, lighting the outside world up into its Technicolor self once more.

There are four nurses, three doctors, and the other boys in her group gathered around her. Two men hold her arms to the ground, and two women pin her legs. Sonoda-sensei is crouched over her prone form, and a doctor flanks each of his sides like wings on an angel. And the boys stare with so much fear and fascination that she wants to cry out again.

Takashi holds his chin and lower lip, but a trickle of blood has seeped between his index and middle finger, and Mitsukuni is curled into his side, fist pulled to his cheek while his eyes scream judgment at her. The others are separated from the two, Hikaru and Kaoru turned towards each other, Kyoya hiding Tamaki from sight.

"Fujioka-san?" she hears again, but she can't turn her face towards them.

There is so much _feeling_ trapped in the boys, and her chest feels hollow. She touched _that_ for so briefly, and it took so much out of her. Her body is just an emptied doll flung to the floor, wasted and broken like some spoil of war.

_What happened_? comes to mind quickly. Because she realizes that she's done something, but she's absolutely terrified to ask what.

She doesn't have time to wonder though.

She's hauled brutally upright, arms pinned back to the point of pain, and she cries out feebly.

She watches the large form of Takashi deviate forward from his stilled place at her broken exclamation, but then she's being dragged out of the room as Sonoda-sensei barks out an order to a nurse to stay behind.

Everyone sounds so angry and terse, filling her head with more noise that she doesn't need, and the world whites out once more around the edges of her vision. Her breathing grates harshly from within her, and her arms twinge once more.

Captivity and human instinct do not coincide or play nicely together; they color her world with panic, and she struggles against the pain in her arms, wrenching her body about in the iron grasps on either side of her.

And then, something pops.

Her vision disappears because her world is so filled with agony, and all of the fight sags from her body.

This time, she realizes that she makes a choked groan of hurt that ends in a whine that brings tears to her eyes.

Activity flutters about her head as she bites down on her lips to muffle the sounds of anguish, but she knows that her nurses are suddenly jabbering out frightened instructions with things that sound like 'shoulder' and 'sedation' and 'episode'.

_Takashi didn't get the nurses called on them_, she manages to think to herself as she is dragged from the room. _Did a pretty good job of that myself_.

Her last thought before she succumbs to the pain radiating through her body is that she'll get someone to apologize for her.

* * *

><p>Alright, filler chapter done. Now, I know some of y'all are like 'Fuck that noise. You suck.'… this chapter was very necessary for future plot points. It's also very confusing. Which only sets up for more awesomeness in the next chapter: Haruhi gets sedated and has trippy dreams! YAY! Also, I know that Haruhi seems to be having <em>a lot<em> of these episodes – an area where you can see I'm taking some creative license. That will change very shortly – in fact, I'm pretty sure that this is the second-to-last episode of such a kind that you will ever see. This story is about the Hosts getting _better_, but I had to establish their conditions first. Anyway, trippy dreams. That means confusion.

So, really, I wouldn't expect some resolution to any confusion caused by these two chapters until the one after that. However, as always, if you leave a review with a question (to which I can actually respond), then I will be more than happy to try and answer it without giving too much away. –winky face-

Now, because I feel the need to have an uber-long author's note to explain what's going on in my life: I am now, officially, _in college!_ Oh my shits… never saw that coming, did ya? Yeah, so, in trying to stay on top of my classes, I won't be posting that often. That's the bad news. The good news is that I am actually taking Psychology, so I'll have some first-hand knowledge on our favorite conditions and such, which is awesome.

I'm not sure how many chapters this fic will be – it's a bit early for that, isn't it? – but I do have a general idea where this is going. What you should expect: there should be a chapter dedicated to each individual of our Host Club and their conditions, shit is _going_ to get real at some point, and there will be tons of TakaHaru-lovin' going down.

That's about all I can promise at this point.

Anyway, hope y'all are fabulous. I'm sleep-deprived and probably partying too hard. And loving every minute of it.

Leave me reviews, and I'll adore the very ground upon which you walk.

Ciao.


	5. Chapter 4

I am so sorry, everyone. I'll keep this one short, but below we should have a somewhat decent explanation, big news, and the translation for the little italicized bit at the top—I'm breaking tradition: Leonard Cohen was not quoted saying that… mostly because I came up with it.

Anyway, new chapter. Read on and review.

* * *

><p>"<em>We are so lightly here. It is in love that we are made. In love we disappear."<em>

_Je souviens._

_Je le souviens._

_Je souviens l'air, et je souviens l'eau. Je souviens les arbres quand il m'a embrassé._

_Je souviens ses yeux, et mes cheveux, et je souviens le rouge de ses lèvres quand il m'a donné des baisers._

_Je souviens le soleil, et les étoiles, et les nuages… pendant que le jour a devenu la nuit et puis la lune a tombé pour le soleil._

_Mon amour, mon trésor, mon loup…_

_Quelquefois, je crie à la lune comme tu avais fait._

_Et puis, je sanglote._

* * *

><p>She is in front of Ouran. Her hair is long. It surrounds her with silken waves of a deep mahogany.<p>

_She_ used to love her long hair. _She_ would brush it out every night, one hundred strokes that grew softer and softer as Haruhi's eyelids got heavier and heavier. In every spare moment of time, _she_ would come to her side and twine _her_ fingers through her hair.

_You have such beautiful hair, my darling. You are just so beautiful that I can hardly look at you._

An immense sadness routs out of her chest, and lone tears streak individually down Haruhi's pale cheeks at strange intervals.

She cannot stop staring.

Ouran looks _different_.

There are no scrubs and no white lab coats. There are no patients out for a walk on the grounds. Everything is still so immaculately maintained, yet there is silence. Even the fountain's splashing does not make noise, and, though a gentle breeze stirs the leaves of the greenery, there are no soft whooshes to alert her to the wind's presence.

Haruhi likes silence.

She steps forward, and her heart practically breaks from the beauty of her scenery and everything.

_Never to experience another moment such as this_, she muses quietly.

She feels strangely giddy and surreal, much like that feeling of _too much_ in the group room, but she can handle this as her heart thrums off of it.

"You wait for Nothing but your own impermanence and fixed point of nothingness."

There is a childish voice ringing to her side, and she whips her head in that direction so quickly that she can make out the nervous dancing of a blond Mitsukuni as he twitches and tics.

"Excuse me?"

"No time for that," he babbles, and she realizes that he has soft pink ears that are flickered in attention and a softer fluff of pale rose fur on the back of his pants. "You're already too late for tea and cake, and you're too late to be fixed, so why are you still here?"

"What are you talking about?" she queries, voice rising in frustration.

"What are _you_ talking about?" Mitsukuni parrots. "I don't have time for this. I never have time. No time for sleep, no time to stop. Time for cake. But not a lot. Too late for you—you'll never be right at this rate."

He flickers then, and she catches a vision of pink out of the corner of her eye. He stands at the edge of the fountain, rabbit feet fixed on the stone, glancing playfully at her over his shoulder.

"You'd best hurry now. They don't like to be kept waiting."

_Rabbits can't swim_, she thinks, and she takes a lurching step forward, a cry of 'Wait!' hung upon her lips, as he hurls himself onto the watery surface.

There is no splash, and she's quick to jog over.

Bunny Mitsukuni is not there. In a foot of water, he has managed to disappear.

"Wait!" she calls again, curling her body over the low ledge to dip her foot into the water. It is surprisingly weightless around her, and not wet. "Come back!"

And she's follows him down the rabbit hole.

* * *

><p>The water is like silk. It cocoons around her and caresses her hair, her cheek, her hand—she goes to breathe, and a wash of the cleanest water thrums up against her. The taste of salt coats her tongue.<p>

And then she is breaking the surface.

Clouds, milky puffs, roll across the immense blue of the sky, and she feels so filled with the immensity before her that she can hardly open her mouth to exult.

"You'd best get out of there," she hears a voice say, and she turns.

There is a figure on the edge of the pool, for that is what she is in, and she swims towards it with confusion creasing her brow.

"Who are you?" Haruhi asks as she pulls herself from the water. If she didn't know any better, she would say that he's that Ootori boy from her group therapy.

The boy, who is around her age, smiles indulgently down at her.

"So you don't know? Interesting," he remarks. "Everyone knows who I am. Shame for you…"

His smile turns icy and fearsome, teeth bared in a sick imitation of comfort, and she shudders. And he makes a note in a notebook that she didn't notice at his side.

"Have you seen a little boy bunny go by here?" she diverts, dropping her gaze to the ground and away from his cold gray gaze.

He huffs across from her, reaching up to adjust his glasses until the glare masks his irises.

"You're going to have to look for him. I would suggest the music room on the third floor. And take that with you."

He gestures impatiently at the ground where a stuffed doll, that bears a striking resemblance to the boy, has now appeared.

She scoops him up, bows her gratitude, and then takes off in the general direction that the dark-haired boy indicated.

She hardly feels like she's running as fear and confusion battle through her system, but in no time she's inside amidst beauty and light and superfluities. It's wonderful. And then she hears it.

A song. A gentle, feminine voice rising and falling through pitches with a sweetly gentle nature to the tonality, like a lullaby.

She turns the corner, and before her stands a girl… her roommate even…

She goes to call out, but the girl opens her eyes and rushes towards Haruhi.

"Well, aren't you a pretty one," she coos abruptly, nearly barreling into Haruhi's front, and she notices that Renge's eyes are not on her.

But they are on the doll.

"Mine," Renge states firmly, looking up, brown eyes flashing angrily. "Mine, mine, mine."

"Yes, yours…" Haruhi agrees—she really just wants to find that bunny and figure out what he meant. "But have you seen a bunny run by?"

The other girl giggles as she snatches the doll from Haruhi's arms.

"Mine, mine, mine. But aren't you pretty too?" Renge states abruptly, and Haruhi is surprised to find that Renge is looking at her, staring and peering and far too close. "It's too bad that you'll never be fixed now!"

"Wait, you're in on it too?" Haruhi blurts, but as soon as the words leave her lips, Renge turns and dashes away.

Haruhi takes off after her.

_Everyone is in on this secret_,she thinks, breathing hard and looking around.

She has been led to a pair of double doors, and she watches as Renge disappears through them.

"Come back!"

She flings herself at the door, but there is no Renge in sight. Instead, there are boys. Four of them: two red-headed twins, and a blond, and a tall one that stares at her unabashedly.

No sooner has she stepped through the door, a pair of arms seizes around her waist, and she is staring up at the silvery eyes of the tall one as he gazes down at her.

She almost wants to tell him to remove his hands, but something tells her that it would do no good and that he wouldn't listen. And she is really so very tired. Her shoulders hurt, and she cannot keep up with what all is going on here.

"Why, hello there," the blond one murmurs, voice flooded with rose petals and gentility. "Don't mind him. He's practically harmless so long as you don't move. Very possessive that one is."

"Yeah. We'd play with you, but he's there, so…" the twins intone, and she turns to them next.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we'll be off now!" they chime again, though the dissonances of their pitches strikes at her eardrums.

Haruhi is almost tired of this, but she has to know.

"Have you seen a bunny-boy and a woman go by here?" she queries, voice dripping with exhaustion and confusion.

"Oh I would assume them to be in the hospital room. They're checking out the patient," Tamaki explains idly, hand waving freely in his immensely frilled coat.

"What patient?" she asks, brow furrowing as his words slick across her ears disjointedly. She begins to disentangle herself from the giant as she registers his words, and he slips away like a dream.

"That woman from earlier… the one carrying the large pillow wearing glasses… really, I thought you'd be smarter about this all. They're in the lobby."

She feels her feet fly out from beneath her, and she is sprinting from the group therapy room past rosy walls and dewy floors and so much grandeur that she can hardly breathe. The chandeliers seem to drip with romance, and she can hardly stomach the fact that she has been subjected to _nothing_ for so long. Feeling and awe and wonder are just… _wonderful._

Haruhi doesn't know how she knows the way, but she does, and she is suddenly in that wide, vast foyer again.

There are two women standing on either side of her roommate, holding her elbows. The doll with glasses lies at the bottom of the staircase, and two individuals, a male and a female, wait by the ornate double doors.

"Wait!" she screams, voice echoing loudly in the cavernous space.

She can see the rigid set in the girl's shoulders, the way that they are curled and flexed and taut and heaving every few seconds.

She isn't ready. Her roommate isn't ready to leave. And she shouldn't be forced to. She deserves a chance to be better.

"Wait!"

They all freeze, and she isn't able to control her legs as she goes sprinting past them, towards the doors, but it's only with the deftest of controls that she manages to slow down ten feet from the other couple.

Haruhi wrenches her head, staring, looking for the tear marks that are so obviously there on the other girl's pale cheeks.

"How could you try and force her?" Haruhi accuses, voice high and reedy. She feels strained and tuned too thin, like she could shatter into a million pieces if she does not release these words. "Everyone should come to in their own time, and you can't just force-feed your pills and your therapies until you feel you've done an _adequate_ amount of work! Just help her… please!"

And that's when she stops.

Because that man looks very similar to her father.

And… oh. Oh.

"Oh… Haruhi, we are so proud of you… so please stay here to heal yourself. You are just so beautiful that I want so much for you," the woman says, and Haruhi's insides clench together. The heat rises into her eyes, and everything blurs together into a cacophony of everything good and bad that she has ever known. She feels like a star: she's always imagined that they are beautiful and secular and lonely and so cold in that but so hot with the need to be so wondrous. She is a sentient being. Alone. Hot. Cold. And blurred around the edges for human eye sight, but, should one tread closely enough, she would come into bright, brilliant focus.

A strangled sound rises in her throat, and she's pitching forward, hurtling, jerking, hotter and colder, and she feels the warmth of an embrace before it touches her skin, and she thinks, _this is what happiness could be like_…

"You'll be just fine now, Fujioka-sama. We've gotten you all fixed up, and now it is time to recuperate. You should experience some stiffness, but that should be the only side effect."

Tears streak from the corners of her eyes unbidden.

"But… wait… wait… please… wait…"

An unending record of pleas seem to spill from her lips, quietly pittering into the air. They're so silent that she isn't sure if she's actually making the sounds, but she wants to press her fingertips into her throat to see if her vocal cords vibrate underneath them. Her shoulders ache too badly for that though, in a very dull, removed fashion, and so she lays quietly as they arrange her into her room and fuss over her prone figure.

She is not aware of time passing, but she figures that it must. She can hardly move, and her eyes are fuzzy and tired. But she hears Renge come in at one point, slip out of her softly whispering dress, and shrug into the soft slip of a satin nightgown.

She feels wasted. Stretched thin. Hard and brittle around the edges, yet gummy and clay-like in the middle. Like, maybe she could be somewhere, but she isn't, but she _could_ be everywhere because she is spread to fit everything underneath her even though she is hollow and washed out of emotions.

_Maybe sleep could give respite_, she wonders silently, arms folded neatly, body lined appropriately.

Silence stretches between her ears as she waits for the blackness to steal across her vision, and she can almost sense it in the air before her, a tangible lack of anything coating the air particles above her.

Haruhi shudders delicately, and the covers shift enough to rustle. But the sound is strange… like knuckles against wood… like knocking… like something that covers should not sound like.

Her body stills once more.

Renge murmurs in her sleep, curls up closer to a pillow-formed image of a glasses-wearing boy, and subsides into slumber once more with a small, cynical smile adorning her lips, dreaming of dark-haired boys who love her coldly.

_Someone is at the door_, her mind supplies. Her body feels stiff as she coaxes her muscles to react to her brain's slurred command, and she still isn't sure how long it takes for her to stagger and shamble to the door and slip it open.

Takashi stands there, shadow dark, eyes closed, lip split and crusted with blood.

She stares at him blankly, letting her eyes memorize the curve of the skin that she bludgeoned earlier.

Their bodies are quiet and reserved and apart before one of his hands floats up and flourishes towards her.

He says nothing, but she understands almost immediately what to do.

"Come with you?"

Her whisper squeaks out in shushes, voice raw from screaming, and his expression never falters.

Takashi's chin dips down, nudging and nestling between his thin collarbones. His hand flutters an inch. Silence yawns between them.

"Hai."

It's surprisingly easy for her to slip her hand into his and follow him into the night.

* * *

><p>Hello, all. I know it's been… a few months. I found it very difficult to write this chapter, and I based it loosely on the Haruhi in Wonderland episode. Anyway, this is what it became. I hope you enjoy.<p>

I've finished my first semester of college and completed my Psychology course—I am now somewhat in the know and feel that I can write this story with a bit more knowledge _as long as it is taken with a grain of salt_.

Hmmm… let's see, what other news do I have.

To Build Me Up For Sin So Fit: There should be four chapters left, for those who read it, which is not many, but still. Anyway, four chapters. Then it will be done.

This story: I have no idea how many more. Please bear with me as I try and figure it all out.

I have a new story that is in the works—it's more angsty, and it's a mystery-esque kind of deal. I'm very excited about it, and I will post it when both of these stories are completed. I hope to have daily updates on that one, but they will be short little drabbles all connecting to the story. Pairing-wise, it's _vaguely_ Haruhi x Host Club. Essentially, it is a web, and everyone connects to everyone in some way shape or form.

Haruhi has a daughter, and she is explaining how she came to have her to her daughter in the form of a bedtime story. It's angsty, and you won't know who the father is until I'm good and ready to reveal it. Just know that it could be one of two or three guys.

Here's the summary:

"Tell me a story, Mama," she breathes into the night, the soft exhale a gentle whisper that is more soothing than any lullaby.

"What do you want to hear, my heart?" I coo back as I curl myself around her small body in a tighter coil. Her face is pressed into my chest, and I can feel the soft quiver of her nostrils as she inhales.

"Everything."

I think back on it all, the downs and the ups, the lows and the highs, the desperation, the anxiety, the love, the anger. All of it flashes across my field of vision like some horribly beautiful, messed-up movie.

It's time: I was seventeen and looking for something. A reason. A mantra. A purpose. I'd been looking for a while; I was used to disappointment. I was young and angry and so upset that I hid behind a mask of conformity and apathy. There was angst. It was typical.

So, please come and join me for that. I'm very excited.

Finally, the translation for the above French.

_I remember._

_I remember it._

_I remember the air, and I remember the water. I remember the trees as he held me._

_I remember his eyes, and my hair, and I remember the red of his lips when he gave me kisses._

_I remember the sun, and the stars, and the clouds… while day became night, and the sun fell for the moon._

_My love, my treasure, my wolf._

_Sometimes, I cry at the moon like you did._

_And then, I sob._

Note: The French word 'loup' means wolf (think loup-garou), but when used as a pet name, it means something along the lines of my dear.

Anyway, sorry for the long wait and the long author's note.

Please read and review. I would really appreciate it.


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